


anyway, don't be a stranger

by harukatenoh



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harukatenoh/pseuds/harukatenoh
Summary: People can say they don't like the Drifter being around all the time, but really, there's not been this much to talk about in the Town for years.
Relationships: The Drifter/The Guardian (Hyper Light Drifter), The Guardian & The Drunk
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	anyway, don't be a stranger

**Author's Note:**

> god i love hld. this was inspired by me chain dashing around the town and constantly smashing into things because i live for the adrenaline and being like 'i wonder what those townspeople think im possibly doing'
> 
> finding out that drifter's prns are he/him and guardian's prns are they/them when i've been consistently writing it as the other way around was really top 10 clown moments but i suppose i will accept this decision. even if i dont agree with it
> 
> work title from scott street by phoebe bridgers

There’s a chime at the door, and when you look up, the Bandit is slinking through the door. You cross your arms.

“Techie,” Bandit greets, walking up to the counter. He leans on it, casual and charming. You narrow your eyes at him; you aren’t taken in by this facade.

“What do you want?” you ask, fingers tapping on the counter. There’s been a lot of weird shit happening around here lately, and Bandit showing up at your doorstep only promises more. “I don’t want any trouble.”

Bandit kicks at one of the pieces of machinery lying on the ground. You give a half-hearted offended caw. _._

“No need to get your feathers ruffled,” Bandit says. Hilarious. Comedic genius, this one. “Just wanted to ask if you knew about the new arrival.”

 _Everybody_ knew about the new arrival. It wasn’t like Guardian had been subtle, carrying him through the town in cradled in their arms. You’re pretty sure that if they had commanded any less respect around here, people would’ve been lining up to watch. 

“Of course,” you say, staring him down. It’s possible that he’s just here to gossip, but you’ve never been that friendly with each other. He wants something. You’re pretty sure he does.

Bandit leans down to pick up the piece that he had just kicked. He places it on the counter and nods at you. 

“There are rumours that he’s… y’know.”

You cock your head. “Do I know?” you ask. You can almost _see_ the sign that says ‘WEIRD SHIT INCOMING’ manifesting over Bandit’s head.

Bandit slams a fist down on the counter. “Apparently he’s a _blue-skin,”_ he spits, eyes burning. “And considering the tech he’s carrying... I’m inclined to agree.”

Ah. So that’s what this is about. “And what does that have to do with me?” you ask. You think you know exactly where this conversation is going, and you’re not happy about it. The first time had been bad enough.

Bandit shrugs. “Nothing at all,” he promises, trying and failing to sound reassuring. “Say the word, and this conversation never happened.”

“I told you I didn’t want trouble,” you reply.

“And you won’t get any,” he says. “But, just hypothetically, if I came into possession of any spare tech parts in the near-future…” He tilts his hat at you. “You would be interested?”

Last time this had happened, you ended up accepting. You still haven’t decided whether you regret that or not. This time is a little different though. 

A lot different, actually. You shake your head.

“Don’t go messing with him,” you tell Bandit. “Not when Guardian’s the one who brought him in.”

It would be a slap in the face towards somebody who most of this town owes their lives to, and that’s not even mentioning what kind of retribution would follow.

Besides, there had been something different about that stray that Guardian had brought in. Something special. Something that really shouldn’t be fucked with.

Bandit hums consideringly. “Never said I would be, Tech,” he says, turning his hands upwards. “Don’t go expecting the worst of me now.”

You want to snap back _maybe stop doing the worst, then_ but he’s already slipped out of the door, leaving it to swing shut. 

You sigh.

You get the feeling a lot of weird shit is going to be happening, whether you like it or not.

* * *

You don’t know much about the latest addition to your town, but you know a few things. 

You know that you shouldn’t talk to him. Nobody else does; some people won’t even look at him! 

You know that you should talk _about_ him though, because that’s what everybody does. Every time he comes back to town, there are whispers for days afterwards. You kinda get it: after all, when he shows up, he’s always covered in blood or smelling like machinery or barely on his feet! That’s pretty noteworthy. It confuses you that everyone will stand around and talk about his injuries but never ask him directly, but you guess that violates the no-talking rule. 

Though that confuses you too. Still, this town has kept you safe all of your life, and you trust everybody, so you trust them on this too.

That changes when one day, you see him exit the Dash Arena. You can’t help but stare curiously; it’s not like he does anything about the stares that follow everywhere, and even if some people think it is, _looking_ isn’t against the rules.

He bounces a few times on his feet, and stretches out his arms above his head. He looks… well, you can’t really tell anything between that helmet and the face-guard, but he seems excited? 

He jumps on the spot one last time, shaking out his arms as he does. Then, he settles back on the ground, leaning forward like he’s about to start in a race.

Then, he’s _off._ Faster than anything you’ve ever seen before. So fast that he almost disappears in your vision! You’ve seen him dash before, but this is another level; he just goes and keeps going, buzzing around the square with an energy that you only _wish_ you could have. 

It’s incredible. It’s beautiful to watch. It’s hard to watch as well; your head turns so rapidly between one place and the next as you try to keep track, but it’s worth it to watch him go so fast he almost blurs. _Amazing._

Then, as fast as he had started, he stops. 

It’s a misstep or an overestimation or something else that you can’t even really tell, but one moment he’s dashing through town and the next he’s _slamming_ into a light pole!

It sounds awful. It sounds like it hurts. It sounds so bad that you actually flinch at the impact.

Before you can remember rules and whispers and all of that stuff, you start running towards him.

“Are you okay?” you call frantically. You arrive at his side.

He’s on the ground, groaning as he picks himself up into a sitting position. His helmet’s been dislodged a little in the impact, so you can see the way his eyes are dazed and unfocused. Oh, gosh. What if he’s injured badly? Should you—maybe you should go get the Apocethary!

Your hands hover over him, because you’re still a _little_ scared to touch him even if you’ve broken the no-looking and no-speaking rule, but you can’t just stand there! You don’t know what you should do! What if he’s concussed, and can’t think properly? What if he doesn’t want your help?

Unable to handle the enormity of the situation now that you’re actually thinking your actions through, you take your hands and hold them behind your back. It doesn’t stop the energy, but it does stop the weird flailing about you had been doing.

He blinks, scrunching up his entire face as he turns towards you. He squints at you.

“Sorry?” he says.

You gulp. “Um. I just. Wanted to ask if you were okay?”

He squints at you some more. You watch as he starts blinking rapidly, and then after that rub his eyes, and it occurs to you that he’s not being hostile. He’s just dazed and confused.

You offer, “I saw you crash! It sounded bad, so, I came to check.”

He squints at you again, and you can pinpoint the exact moment his vision focuses properly. 

His eyes go wide.

He stumbles to his feet, taking a few steps back and saying, “Right, sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You shake your head, bringing your hands out to wave them in front of him. “No, no,” you say, “it’s okay! I was just—um—looking out for you! It’s fine!”

He stares at you. You stare back.

Very slowly, very cautiously, he nods. “Looking out for me,” he repeats. He looks down at his cloak, eyes still wide. He starts to smooth it out, brushing away dust and dirt, but you get the feeling it’s an absentminded gesture. 

“Thanks,” he adds, awkwardly. He finishes cleaning himself off, and gives you another look. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do now, but at least he looks about the same.

He probably hadn’t been expecting anybody to talk to him today. Or any day.

That must be… lonely. You love this town, and it’s kept you safe, but it’s not done a very good job for him, really. 

You look down at the ground, wringing your hands nervously, and say, “By the way. It was… really cool. That thing you were doing with the dashes.”

There’s silence for a moment. It drags on long enough that you start to worry that you said something wrong, but then he says something.

“Thanks,” he says, and his tone has changed so drastically from last time that you have to look up. So you look up.

You can’t see underneath his face covering, but you’re certain he’s beaming. There’s a light in his eyes, similar to the one from before when he had just exited the Dash Arena, and you catch yourself smiling too.

“Just be careful not to crash,” you say, confidence bolstered enough that you feel okay teasing him a little. He takes it well: shaking shoulders and tinkling laugh.

“I’ll try,” he promises, voice bright. You nod at him.

He nods back. Then, he’s patting himself in the cheeks. You know what’s about to happen. You take a few steps back, to give him space. 

After another little bounce where he stands, he’s off again. You blink and you almost miss it, but then you see that blur bouncing off towards the West Gate. 

You turn around, about to head back home, when you hear something that sounds _suspiciously_ like another crash. You can’t help it; you giggle into the palm of your hand.

You still don’t know much about the latest addition to the town, but hey—he doesn’t seem all that bad.

* * *

You’ve seen a lot of shit in your lifetime, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this. _Nothing._

You blink in disbelief at the sight in front of you. It’s so— you’re so shocked that you feel something almost like sobriety coming on. What the _fuck._

You look at Guardian, standing next to you. They look the closest thing to surprised you’ve ever seen.

You look back ahead.

Yeaaaaaup. You get it. You get it completely.

“Are you… seeing this?” you slur.

Guardian clears their throat and tightens their slacked-jaw. “I am,” they say, sounding somewhat bewildered. You’ve never seen them like this before. Most likely, nobody in the world has seen them like this before, except maybe one person.

One person who is currently lying slumped against a tree, knocked out cold like you’ve been so many times. Next to him is… is…

Is the fucking crystallized corpse of the _Hanged Man._

You look back to Guardian. They’re still staring at the corpse, almost as if they’re too… not scared, because it’s _Guardian,_ but something. Too something to look anywhere else. You didn’t think they could be so off-kilter, before, but before isn’t now; _before_ didn’t have a strangely smiling, quietly ferocious Drifter to upturn everything you knew.

The silence is too much, and the look on Guardian’s face is even worse. You scramble for something to say.

“Did he… drag that all the way here from the West?” you mumble.

You and Guardian both turn to look towards the West gate and you see it: a trail of blood and crystal that probably stretches all the way to the heart of the forest. He really brought it all the way back. What the _fuck._

It’s kind of incredible. Everything inside of you, heart included, has rotted away a long time ago, but you find that you still feel something at the sight.

Guardian says, “He must be exhausted,” and you catch the concern in their tone even through your inebriation. 

You snort. “At this point, it’s hard to tell whether he’s your boyfriend or a stray cat hanging around you.”

Guardian turns to look at you sharply. You can’t quite see past the shadows over their face, but you think they might be frowning. 

“He’s a person,” they state calmly, if a little tersely. “You should know better than to make those kind of comparisons.”

You raise an eyebrow at them. _Wrong thing to deny there, buddy,_ you think.

Still, you reach out and very awkwardly pat them on the shoulder. You get it. You didn’t mean any bad with the joke, but you know that Guardian is… staunch, when it comes to these things.

It’s why you never told them about your ‘welcoming party’ to the town. Knowing them, they would’ve ripped off their helmet in solidarity, and then this whole happy-town-citizens charade would’ve gone up in flames. Some secrets just need to be kept.

Yeah. Some secrets just need to be kept. It’s why Guardian had called you over here, instead of any of the other villagers, to help clean up. You both know the significance of _this_ particular corpse to Drifter. To Guardian.

To you.

The more you think about it, the more it strikes you as absurdly meaningful, in a hilariously misplaced way. It’s really exactly the kind of wildly strange but well-intentioned gesture that Drifter would make. And make it he has.

Barely.

You shuffle over to his unconscious form, since Guardian doesn’t seem to know what to do with themselves. Your hands are still kind of shaky, and your head still spins a little, but you manage to lean down and work a medpack out of Drifter’s belt.

You press it into his shoulder and inject.

His eyelids flutter, and he comes to with a groan. He blinks, squinting until his vision comes back into focus.

He looks up at you.

You offer him a sour kind of smile, because that’s the best you can do most days.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he groans in reply. He squints his eyes again, looking past you, and then breaks into a smile. A real smile. A good-for-something kind of smile, unlike the one you gave him earlier. You roll your eyes and step back.

Guardian, who is finally _finally_ looking at Drifter, takes a cautious step towards him.

“How are you feeling?” they ask. 

Drifter gives them another smile, even if it’s not an entirely present one. “Been better,” he says.

Guardian crosses their arms. You begin to feel like you’re intruding on something. Even worse is that you technically still haven’t done the job you were brought here to do; the Hanged Man still lies there, for the whole town to see.

You take another few steps back, until you’re standing beside the corpse. You have to admit. The crystal stuff is kind of cool. What a way to go, huh?

You nod in greeting at the corpse, because you’ve given up on all semblance of normalcy in your life. It’s actually in two pieces, you realize, looking from this close. The head, and a part of a shoulder, has been entirely severed from the body. Wow. 

You look back towards Drifter, who is now _being picked up by Guardian in their arms_ what the _fuck._

“You should be more careful. No more unnecessary exertions,” Guardian tells him, their grip gentle.

“Coming from _you,”_ Drifter snorts. “Just accept the gift, Guardian.”

Guardian looks towards the corpse. You do your best to make yourself look busy.

They look back at Drifter. Tone dry, they say, “It’s not a very good gift.”

“You want to try and do better?” Drifter shoots back, and you think you can see Guardian’s shoulders shaking with… mirth? Humour?

Surely not. You’re beginning to suspect that Drifter has special powerful abilities beyond the usual ones granted to your race, because _that_ is a miracle to witness.

“I saved your life,” Guardian says. “Let you live in my house. Draw you maps. I think I perform perfectly satisfactorily.”

When Drifter laughs, his entire body shakes with the sound, like it’s coming from deep inside his core. Guardian has turned away enough that you can no longer see their face, but you’re sure they’re smiling along to the sound.

Like that, they walk inside together.

Wait.

 _Wait._ They _walk inside together._

You look at their receding forms, and at the corpse at your feet. You—what—no—oh for _fuck’s_ sake. 

You know you have no hope of dragging Guardian away from Drifter’s side. Not now. You groan.

You look down hopelessly at the corpse again. You tell yourself you’re being a hero. Rendering a service to people who have been nothing but kind to you. Doing a favour for somebody you might call a friend.

Shaking your head, you tie a rope around the corpse. You start to pull. Fuck, this thing is _heavy,_ but you grit your teeth and remember the long-forgotten strength in your bones. You have to do at least one worthwhile thing in your life, you suppose.

You leave the head cutoff there at the doorstep, though. As payback. They can deal with the angry townspeople when it starts to rot. 

Feeling strangely buoyed, despite the weight dragging behind you, you walk towards the West gate.

**Author's Note:**

> me and my friend bea (if ur reading this hi ily) joked around a lot that drifter is like a stray cat bringing back random corpses and other goodies to guardian as a show of love and i literally have not been able to let that go


End file.
